


An Unlikely Accord

by Pronunciation_Hermy_One, SAYS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pronunciation_Hermy_One/pseuds/Pronunciation_Hermy_One, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SAYS/pseuds/SAYS
Summary: For Eliska - Then it is life. It takes as it wants. We watch the world we used to know fall to dust and blow away, steal our hearts and leave us with tears. But, the beauty is yours to hold onto as you wish. Will you let it be stolen?





	An Unlikely Accord

**Author's Note:**

> Eliska, this was SUCH a treat to write for you! Pairing a la Obscurus gave me such a beautiful and open field to work with, and I appreciated the challenge, my friend. Happy Christmas.

September 25, 1998

 

There is, in fact, nothing especially impressive about turning ninety years old in the wizarding world. It is even less impressive to turn ninety years old the same year Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort. But, alas, for Garrick Ollivander, whose birthday is something he’s always quite cherished, both of these things are held to be true. 

His wife is adamant that he has tried to return to work too soon. But Garrick is confident that the excitement of his birthday will get him through today. He forbade her from visiting today and went into the shop anyway. 

The bell over the door rings and he starts, dropping a stack of boxes, wands from within clattering to the floor as he whipped around.

“Sorry,” a young man stutters as he drops to the floor to help pick up the boxes. “I was walking by and saw your light on. I just…” he trailed off. 

“13 inches long, cherry wood with a unicorn hair core, and has seen it’s fair share of action, from what I understand.” Garrick whispers, locking eyes with the young man as he hands him the boxes from the floor. 

The young man averts his eyes, a small frown passes fleetingly on his lips as he glances at the floor. “I did less than many others.”

“This is not what I have heard, Mr. Longbottom.” Garrick places a hand on his shoulder gently as he passes back to the shelf. 

“I too, have heard. About you. I haven’t seen you since the day you sold this to me. I just…” He pauses, as if searching for the words. “Wanted to thank you.”

“I’ve done nothing worthy of thanks.”

“That’s not what Harry says.”

Garrick’s eyes snap to Neville’s as he sighs. “Mr. Potter is generous.”

“He is.” Longbottom chuckles as he walks back to the counter. “This is the first wand you’ve actually given me.”

“And the last I sold.” Neville is now standing near the counter, blocking Garrick’s only exit, and Garrick’s pulse quickens as he backs away from the young man. 

“I’ve done many terrible things.” Garrick whispers, instantly transported back, hooded faces are surrounding him. The backs of his knees connect with the shelf behind him and he presses himself against it. 

“Mr. Ollivander?”

“I won’t. Please. Come no closer. Stop.”

Neville’s expression is concerned, but Garrick doesn’t see him as he brings his hands to his face, covering his eyes. He is trembling and he cries out as the now familiar sensation courses through every nerve ending in his body. “Stop. Please!”

He is sinking to the ground, his knees giving out as he shakes.

“Mr. Ollivander?”

It is cold in the cellar and a mouse scurries over his leg in the dead of night. Or perhaps it is a rat. 

“I’ll make you a wand!”

Dark eyes twinkle in the night, laughter dancing through his head as he hears her voice over and over crucio! 

“Mr. Ollivander!”

It continues until he’s vomiting from the pain, choking on it as they kick his tender flesh and laugh while he writhes. 

“Please, just stop!”

“You’re okay, Mr. Ollivander.” Gentle hands are on his cheeks, arms are pulling him in tightly, hugging him as he’s pulled back to the present. “You’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Neville’s voice is soothing, hushing him as Garrick’s heart slows, his hands unclenching. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He gasps. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. We are all victims, all fighting demons. It comes back to haunt us.” Neville swallows. “I never know when it will happen, either.”

Garrick nods, staring at the front door of the store, willing it to never open again. 

“Are you talking to anyone?”

“What?” Garrick blink. 

“Since the war. About the war.” Neville flushes pink. “It’s supposed to— I mean, it helps.”

Garrick closes his eyes. “I don’t want to speak of this. Not to anyone.” 

“My gran says the same thing.” Neville laughs. 

“She’s quite right. Discussing your feelings… this isn’t something you did in my day and age.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Neville is squeezing his hand, helping him to stand back up. “If you have someone, or can find someone, it might not hurt to talk.” He shrugs. 

Garrick stares at him balefully. “Are you suggesting I share with you?”

Neville blushes. “No, no sir. I mean, you can. If you want, but I don’t think I’m your ideal… I just came to say hi. And, thank you. And… happy birthday.”

A small smile momentarily turns up the corner of Garrick’s mouth. “It is nothing of importance, Mr. Longbottom. 

“This one I’ll argue with you, sir.” Neville’s voice is harder than it was. “We have too many lost in this war, they’ll never see another birthday.. You’re here, for one more birthday. It’s important. Every birthday is important, now. We won.” 

Garrick shakes his head as he begins to set back to work in the store. “In that case, thank you, Mr. Longbottom.” 

Garrick focuses on stacking boxes, watching as they dance through the air with swishes of his wand. His headache fades a bit, and the electric shock of tingling throughout his body dissipates as he focuses on the task at hand, compartmentalizing, ignoring the voices and words assaulting his memory. He is relegating the emotion back where it belongs. 

He remains that way, his back resolutely on the your man, until he hears the tinkling of the bell assuring him he had left. His shoulders slump then as he exhales deeply. 

He’ll try again, tomorrow. 

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

May 2, 2000

 

The streets are packed, and so was his shop.   
There couldn’t possibly be a worse day for this. 

He is exhausted after a long day of patrons and excitement thrumming palpably through the streets. The sun has finally set, the parade marches past his windows and fireworks lit up the sky as he locks the door behind him. 

“Thank you for your assistance today, Mr. Longbottom. 

The young man smiles. “My pleasure. It’s the weekend, easy enough for me to get away.”

Garrick has gotten used to Neville appearing on particularly busy days to help around the shop. It’s made the panic that sets in easier to navigate. He’s never had to ask, Neville just appears at his side when the crowds are overwhelming, and Garrick can escape for a moment to collect himself. He is appreciative. 

“Happy day, Mr. Ollivander.” Neville waves quickly before departing into the hordes of people. 

Garrick waits until he has turned the corner and then walks the opposite way. She’d contacted him yesterday, new cores he’d been sourcing had finally arrived. He’d wanted to meet her first thing this morning and retrieve them, but the store had been so busy he hasn’t had a chance. Now, in the cover of darkness while everyone was busy celebrating the second anniversary of the war, was probably a better time to make his way into Knockturn Alley, anyway. 

 

Shouts of celebration, and rejoicing greet him as he walks. A group of young men, cheering and playing wildly on the sidewalk, jostle him. “Sorry, sir! Happy Day!” They shout as he continues on without responding. 

Bundling his cloak tighter around his face, he turns surreptitiously and walks down the side street. The air is cold and the area is dimly lit. It is difficult to see, but he has followed the path so many times, his feet take him of their own volition. 

“You’re late and it’s cold.” Her eyes glint with laughter as he rounds the corner. He’d have passed her if he didn’t know better. Giant brown robes, dirty and worn; she resembles a pile of rags more than a person. But, he knows better. 

“It’s not as easy to slip here unnoticed; I’m no longer a young man, Morgan.” 

She laughs and he scowls. “Found you something interesting, Garrick. 

He is intrigued. “Oh?”

“It was found with a nest of Bowtruckles. He makes no guarantees, and so I give it to you freely.” She hands him a small box and he quirks his eyebrow. “There is enough inside for maybe one.”

He lifts the lid slightly, peeking inside. “Eucalyptus deglupta?” He gasps, withdrawing a heavy pouch of coins from within his robes. “A live nest?”

“A live nest.” She is chuckling at the excitement in his eyes and voice as she turns to leave. 

“Happy day.” She whispers as she retreats, and he responds absentmindedly as he makes his way back toward the celebrants of Diagon Alley. 

He’s passing through the Leaky Cauldron when he first sees him, tiny and dark in the corner closest to the bar. He’s leaning over a table, concentrating on his drink, but Garrick would recognize him anywhere. He stands for a moment, making his decision, before crossing to him. 

“Happy Day.” Garrick murmurs as the goblin raises his eyes to meet his own. He looks surprised for barely a moment before he returns his eyes to his drink. 

“Indeed.”

Garrick stands there silently for a moment before walking to the bar and ordering a drink. He returns to the table and sits next to him. He doesn’t know what has promoted him to do so, the goblin gave him no indication his presence was even welcome, but he cannot resist. 

They say nothing, sitting in silence, meeting one another’s stony gaze occasionally, holding it briefly before returning to their drinks. Half an hour passes, and Garrick has finished his drink. He sets it gently on the table and stands. 

Griphook meets his eyes once more, nodding, before Garrick turns and walks away into the evening air. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

December 24, 2001

 

They are all happy, probably too happy, but he relishes in the sounds of the children playing in the snow anyway. People are rushing home to finish their final preparations for Christmas, but he’s ready for a drink before making his way home from Hogsmesde. It’s a long journey, but it had been fruitful, and he smiles as he pats his pocket. 

Wandmaking is an interesting craft, and the more he studies, the more he realizes he has only scratched the surface. He is often regarded the expert of their time, but Ollivander feels woefully unworthy of the title. 

“Aberforth.” He nods as he takes a seat at the corner of the bar. 

“Ollivander.” A drink is set before him and he takes a sip, turning in his seat to look around the bar. A small hag sits in the corner, ensconced in purple and black robes. Across from her a row of warlocks are engaged in quiet, intense conversation, and behind the a group of older students in Hogwarts robes are laughing and carrying on. 

He almost misses him, sitting in the far back, out of the light. It isn’t until the Hogwarts students stand up, jumping around playfully, that he catches a glimpse of him. He chokes on his drink as their eyes meet through the crowd. 

Garrick stands from his stool and crosses the room slowly, drink in hand. Griphook’s eyes never waver from his as he makes the journey. 

“May I sit?”

The goblin nods. 

Garrick sits silently as he tries to decide how to begin. They weren’t friends. They had survived in the cellar and then shell cottage together mostly in silence. Few words had been exchanged even then, but Garrick was drawn to him even so, for some inexplicable reason. 

Griphook takes another sip of his drink, staring wordlessly at him, and Garrick shifts uncomfortably. Were words necessary? 

“You— er, look well.” 

Griphook raises an eyebrow in response. 

“I’m here on business.” Ollivander explains, gesturing around the Hogs Head. 

Griphook offers no response, just sips his drink. 

Aberforth is at Garrick’s side now. “Another?” 

He nods in affirmation. “On my tab, please.” They arrive shortly and Ollivander raises his glass in appreciation toward the bar, and then toward Griphook. 

“To allies in times of war.” 

Griphook considers him for a moment, and Garrick feels awkward as his hand hangs there in the air. But then he raises his glass, finally, and they clink in the air. 

And then words are tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them. “It took me a good six months to work again. After. But it’s been three years now. I’m working on… some things. Something new. It keeps me busy, but I don’t work as swiftly in my old age.” He smiles and it flickers over his face before vanishing just as quickly. 

“It feels different now. I have a truer understanding of the way my wands affect lives. Good or evil. I was filled with fear, at first, afraid to match anyone. What if they were the next…” He trails off. “But now, now I’m just tired. It feels as if each new wand takes a piece of me and I worry… what will happen when I have nothing left to give?”

“A goblin would know nothing of wandmaking.”

Garrick blinks. He sinks back into his seat, silent again. He takes a sip of his drink before he responds. 

“No.” He scoffs. “That is disingenuous, and you know it. You more than most understand the magic, the power involved with creating an object of magical properties. Pieces of your soul.”

“Do you mean to tell me, Wandmaker, that you want each of your creations returned to you? You are their rightful owner?”

“Certainly not. I have created them for others.” 

“It brings you joy to watch your creations go forth into the world, no matter the consequences of the actions of their new masters?” 

“Once they pass from my possession, once I have created them, I am no longer responsible for them.”

“Then, you have lost none of your soul.”

“It is a labor of love!” 

“Your love is finite, then?”

Garrick clicks his tongue. “You twist my words.”

“Wandmaker, until you understand the pain of an object imbued with your soul, your love and your magic being taken and never returned, stolen and pushed further and further from your reach continually through generations, it is you who are twisting words.” 

Garrick stands, pushing his chair angrily away from the table. 

“All is well, Ollivander?” Aberforth is calling from the bar and Garrick waves toward him dismissively. 

“Good evening, Griphook.” He speaks tersely before turning on his heel and walking toward the door. “Happy Christmas.” He bites over his shoulder before leaving. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

December 24, 2002

 

Garrick feels a bit silly as he enters the Hogs Head this evening. The conversation he’d had with Griphook last year has played through his mind ceaselessly since. He still isn’t certain what possessed him to respond with such ire, but it had given him pause to think and consider. 

He’d thought all year, in fact. He’d considered the way each wand felt in his hands, his memory for their owners and connections. He’d discussed it with his wife, with Neville, and come to the conclusion that Griphook was right. 

It pained him to realize this, but also gave him the will and the desire to continue his life’s work. He wanted to thank the goblin, just a small token. And so when Morgan had met him next, he’d put in a request. This is how he finds himself in Hogsmeade again on Christmas Eve, a small parcel tucked under his arm. 

“Evening, Aberforth.” He smiles as he strolls into the bar. “Happy Christmas.”

Aberforth nods, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Business again, Mr. Ollivander?”

“After a fashion.” Garrick accepts the drink with a nod. “Is he here, yet?” 

Aberforth scans the room before returning his eyes to Garrick. “Who are you—“

But then Garrick sees him and waves his hand over his shoulder as he heads to the table in the back. 

He is almost certain Griphook smiles, or as close to it as he’s ever seen, when he sits down next to him. 

“Happy Christmas.”

“Indeed.” Griphook nods. 

“You have given me a lot to consider this year.”

Griphook’s head tilts to the side as he considers him. “I did not think you would return.”

“I sold the dark lord his wand. A difference of opinion shouldn’t be so divisive.”

Griphook’s eyes squint, and Garrick is almost certain he’s amused this time. “And have you come to convince me otherwise?”

Garrick shakes his head, drawing the package from his cloak. “No. I’ve a gift for you.”

Griphook does look surprised now. His mouth opens just a bit and his eyebrows draw together as Garrick sets the package on the table before him. 

“Don’t open it now.” He instructs. “Take it home. Wherever that may be. I just wanted to let you know I’d heard you.” 

Griphook nods, a long finger reaching out and sliding the package closer on the table. He blinks when his fingers make contact and his attention snaps back to Garrick once again. “Oh.” 

Garrick knows he won’t receive a thank you, because it is not his to give, as far as Griphook is concerned, but he does so nonetheless. 

“Happy Christmas, Griphook.” Garrick smiles, rising from his seat. 

“Stay.” The goblin speaks quietly, staring at his drink. 

Garrick pauses. “All right.”

He resumes his position at the table and they sit in silence for awhile more. The silence is comfortable and Garrick finds himself less agitated than he has been in many years now. 

“I’m trying a new wood. It’s the first of its kind I've seen with any potential. I’m getting close, I believe.”

“You have decided then that your soul is not being lost to your life’s work?”

“Perhaps more that my work is the soul of my life?”

Griphook’s ears twitch as he sips his drink. 

“I am content. I take pride in my work. And my wife is the rest.” Garrick shrugs as he drains his drink. 

“What brings you to Hogsmeade, Mr. Ollivander?”

He laughs. “You. And you, Griphook?”

Now he truly does smile. “The same.”

Garrick shakes his head at the obvious dismissal. 

They lapse into silence once again until the bell jingles as the door opens and Neville walks in. Garrick watches curiously as he makes eye contact with Aberforth before peering around the bar. 

“Excuse me, Griphook.” He mumbles as he stands and strides toward the bar. 

“Mr. Longbottom! Happy Christmas.”

Neville whirls around. “There you are. Happy Christmas to you, as well, Mr. Ollivander.”

“There I am? Are you here for me?” 

Neville looks at him strangely for a moment before shaking his head. “Uh, just nice to see you, sir. Are you heading back to London this evening?”

“I do believe so. My wife will be waiting, and the store.”

“I’m heading that way myself. Perhaps we can travel together? I’ve a portkey in just a quarter of an hour.”

Garrick smiles. Such a sweet boy. “Let me say goodbye to my friend, and I’ll be…” He trails off as he realizes Griphook has already left. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m ready to leave now. Let me grab my cloak.”

He turns with a heavy sigh and walks away as Neville and Aberforth speak in hushed tones. 

“Happy Christmas, Aberforth.” Garrick calls as he takes Neville’s arm and they walk through the door. 

“What brings you here, Mr. Longbottom?”

“I was up at Hogwarts, speaking with Pomona Sprout.”

“Auror business?”

“Not something I want to do forever. Just… keeping my options open.”

Garrick smiles. “One should never close a door on something that pleases their heart, young Longbottom.”

Neville laughs and squeezes his arm as thy trudge through the snow. “I do believe your spirits are lifting, Mr. Ollivander, since our first meeting. Have you begun to speak with someone?”

A small “tsk” falls from his lips as Garrick shakes his head. “I told you, Mr. Longbottom. We do not speak at my age.” 

Neville scours the ground until he sees a small length of frayed rope. He picks it up and their hands grasp the old cord as their eyes meet. 

“Well, either way, Mr. Ollivander. It is nice to see you smile.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

December 24, 2013 

 

“Are you certain you don’t want to stay the night?” Neville’s eyes are warm as he holds Garrick’s hands, wrapping him in a hug. 

“No, I’d best be off, son. I have a stop to make along the way.”

“The Hogs Head?” 

Garrick nods. “Yes, I meet him for a drink each Christmas Eve. Eleven years now.” 

Neville is chewing on his lip, staring out at the blustering evening. “It’s a long way back to London. You won’t stay here after? I’m happy to escort you home tomorrow morning. Hannah and I would be honored for you to stay.”

Swallowing hard, he shakes his head. “My children will be over in the morning. It is tradition, Mr. Longbottom, and one I have no intention of ending. I’ve missed exactly one Christmas with them in my hundred and five years, well, since their birth, and it was wildly outside of my control. If it is in my power to be with them…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Thank you, Mr. Longbottom. And for the invitation to dine with you here today. It was a pleasurable evening in an otherwise dreary year. Please thank Mrs. Longbottom for a fine meal and company.”

“I will miss her.”

“As will I, my son.” He squeezes the young man before making his way out the door with a final murmured “Happy Christmas.”

It is cold, but Garrick counts his footfalls as the snow crunches in time under his steps. He has another package, tiny, clutched in his cloak as he winds his way from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. The memories of taking this trip on the weekends as a young wizard at Hogwarts bring a sad smile to his face, but he is grateful for the smile nonetheless. 

“Aberforth. Happy Christmas.” He calls as he approaches the door to see it wide open. 

“Mr. Longbottom said you were on your way.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“It is.” Aberforth nods, closing the door behind them.

“Where else would I be, Aberforth?” 

The man says nothing, wiping a dingy glass with a stained rag before asking, “Your usual?”

“A double.” Garrick nods, taking the glass and heading to their table in the back. Griphook is not here, and so he sits in silence and waits. It’s been ten years now. 

It seems an eternity, and he’s on his third drink before the little bell indicates the door has opened and he sees the goblin make his way back toward the table. 

“Happy Christmas, Griphook.”

Griphook sits down, not speaking as he stares at Garrick. His cheeks flush as the goblin evaluates him silently. He’s grown fond of their annual meetings and hadn’t realized he was nervous that Griphook was so late. The goblin is still staring at him, and Garrick sits silently. He’s frowning now, growing uncomfortable as Griphook continues to stare. 

“I believe the young folk would say you should take a picturegraph and it would last longer.” Garrick grumbles. 

“I heard.”

Tears instantly sting Garrick’s eyes. Of course he’d heard. “Last month.” 

Griphook nods. “It has been eleven years since my wife passed.”

Garrick thinks back. “The first year we met here.”

“Indeed.” Griphook swallows a gulp of his beverage. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Life.” Griphook says simply. “We live and then we die. We have no right to this life for longer than is granted to us.” 

“I want to talk to the arsehole in charge of granting time.”

“Ah, the battle between grace and pride.” Griphook murmurs. “I’ve long battled.”

Garrick stares at him. “I’ve watched life change. We have watched it evolve around us, been caught up and chewed up, spit out and survived, Griphook.”

The goblin nods. 

“It’s taken my world apart, Griphook. The cost of my life, my work, and now she lays there.”

“At your hands?”

“No!”

“Then it is life. It takes as it wants. We watch the world we used to know fall to dust and blow away, steal our hearts and leave us with tears. But, the beauty is yours to hold onto as you wish. Will you let it be stolen?”

Garrick wipes the tears from his eyes furiously as he rolls the goblins words around in his mind. The ice clinks in his glass, his hands trembling as he drains the last of the liquid. He is silent for a few moments more before reaching into his cloak. “I’ve brought you something.”

“A Christmas tradition I can abide by.” Griphook murmurs softly, taking the package into his pocket. 

The clock strikes eleven and Garrick stands to his feet. “I should be off. My children and grandchildren will be over early in the morning.”

Griphook nods, raising the glass in his hand toward him. 

“Happy Christmas, Wandmaker.”

Garrick pauses, extending a hand toward the goblin, his friend. In all of their years, all of their meetings, he’d never offered such a sentiment. 

“Happy Christmas, Griphook.” 

The air is cold as he walks back outside, but his heart is warmer than when he’d arrived. 

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

December 24, 2014 

 

It’s after 10pm when the floo roars to life. He and Hannah had been finishing the decorations, excitedly anticipating their guest for Christmas. Mr. Ollivander’s children were traveling for the holidays, and so he had agreed to spend Christmas with them. Neville is particularly excited. 

Neville jumps to his feet in front of Hannah, wand drawn defensively, until he sees Aberforth’s head swimming before him. He blinks twice and kneels before the fireplace. 

“Aberforth?” 

“Mr. Ollivander is not here.”

Neville inhales. “Not at all this evening?”

“Was he with you?”

“No. We spoke yesterday, and he had decided to stay the night after leaving you. Spend Christmas with us. Does his companion know where he is?”

“His… companion?”

“Yes. He speaks of him each year.”

Aberforth pauses. “He has always come alone, Mr. Longbottom. He sits at the same table in the back, has a drink, never more than two or three, and then departs. He leaves a small trinket on the table there each year. I’ve quite a collection of goblin crafted items.” 

Neville hesitates. “No, he meets someone, a friend from the war, every Christmas Eve. What are you talking about?”

Aberforth clears his throat. “Mr. Longbottom, I can assure you he has always been alone, as I told you those many years ago.”

“I just— I assumed it was the once. That his companion had not shown or… left early…” he is wracking his brain for answers. “Thank you, Aberforth.”

It is as the floo simmers into silence, as he is lacing his boots and bidding Hannah goodbye that he hears the knock on his door. 

“Auror Longbottom?”

Neville is staring at a tall man in black robes. His face is somber but kindly, his hands stuffed into his pocket. 

“I’ve not been an Auror in many years. Professor, now.” He mutters. Neville’s stomach is twisting as he invites the man inside. He is speaking, his name, department. His words flit in and out of Neville’s mind as he sinks into the sofa. 

They’d found him on the train a few hours before. He hadn’t survived the trip, passing a few hours before they arrived. He’s handing Neville a bag now. It contains a few small parcels, his name and Hannah’s scrawled in neat print. 

It isn’t until the man has long gone, Hannah has retired to bed, and Neville has spoken with Aberforth again, that he looks through the bag once more. Inside, at the bottom, is a long wand box with a small tag that reads “Griphook”. 

His eyebrows furrow as he opens it, carefully lifting the contents and inspecting the wand between his fingers. A note falls from the box and Neville picks up the rainbow skinned wand between his fingers. 

“To Griphook, 

As the wand chooses its master, with your counsel, I have chosen life and beauty. This one has chosen you. 

From your friend, 

Garrick Ollivander.”

A small smile lights Neville’s face as he twirls the wand between his fingers, its power thrumming through him. He places it back in its box before tucking it under the tree. A final Christmas gift from Garrick: Eleven and a half inches, Eucalyptus Deglupta, Dragon Heart String core. Neville smiles sadly as he heads to join Hannah in their bed, for Garrick may be gone, but his presence lives on in thousands of wands throughout the world. 

“Happy Christmas, Hannah.” He murmurs against her hair as he tucks her into his arm. He’s learned many lessons from Mr. Ollivander; lessons of magic, of life and of love. And he knows without a shadow of a doubt that this, his love for Hannah, is the truest and wisest lesson he has learned of all. 

He kisses the words against her temple as he breathes. “Happy Christmas, my love.”


End file.
